OUTLINE OF PSYCHOLOGY
CHAPTER I
INTRODUCTORY
Psychology is, or aspires to become, a science, a systematically organized and growing body of knowledge. Entering upon the study of this science, we shall naturally expect to be told what is the class of things or processes with which the science is concerned; what kind of knowledge, what sort of increase of understanding, we may hope to gain from the study of it.
The most satisfying answer is that it should help us to a better understanding of human nature. The aim of psychology is to render our knowledge of human nature more exact and more systematic, in order that we may control ourselves more wisely and influence our fellow-men more effectively. There is probably no psychologist who would find serious fault with this statement. As a definition of the province of the science it falls short in two respects. Such a definition should indicate all that falls within the province and should exclude everything that does not. And in both these respects the statement falls short of perfection. For one well-established branch of psychology studies animals, and is properly called the study of animal behavior. And, on the other hand, we have anthropology, a study which by its very title claims to be, and in practice is, the science of mankind; but which, as generally understood, includes much that falls outside the province of psychology. We should not attach great importance to these imperfections; for similar difficulties arise when we attempt to define concisely any science or branch of science. The fields of the various sciences overlap. It is inevitable that they should do so; for, if there are sharp divisions in nature, we do not know exactly where to find them, and therefore cannot draw any precise boundaries between the sciences. And such overlapping of the sciences is really advantageous; for it brings the workers in the several sciences into touch and co-operation one with another.
The psychologist may and should study animal behavior; in doing so, he enters the field of the zoologist, needs his help and may hope to render some help in return. But he studies animals for the sake of the light which such study may throw upon his own problems, the problems of human nature. The relation of psychology to zoology is not unlike that of zoology to geology. The zoologist or biologist needs some knowledge of geology, and is able to make returns to the geologist for the help he gets from him; and there is a large field of overlap, the science of fossil remains or palaeontology, which is dependent upon and supplementary to both these more fundamental sciences. In a very similar way, the science of animal behavior stands between zoology and psychology, as a field of overlap which is dependent upon both and in which they may come into helpful relations.
The other weakness of our definition of psychology, namely, that it may seem to claim too much and so encroach upon the field of anthropology, is no more serious. Anthropology, broadly conceived, concerns itself with man as an animal species. Within this wide science are several more special anthropological sciences, none of which can be sharply marked off from the more inclusive science or from one another; such are ethnology and human morphology and physiology. Psychology is a member of this group of anthropological sciences; it may be distinguished from the wider science of anthropology by saying that it is concerned, not with man as one animal species among others, but with man in his distinctively human aspect. Now every one knows that man is chiefly distinguished from the animals by his mental powers. Why not then be content (as some of the earlier writers were) to define psychology as the science of mind, or of the human mind, or of mind as manifested in the human species? There are several objections to such a definition. First, âmindâ is a vague word, itself in need of definition. The meaning of the word can not be defined by pointing to one mind after another and saying: âThis and this and this is what I mean by âa mind.ââ Although the words âmindâ and âmentalâ are in common usage, we can only gradually by prolonged study build up and clarify our conception of âmindâ or of âa mind.â Secondly, there are other sciences of mind than psychology: such are logic, and metaphysic, and epistemology, and theology, all of which claim to tell us about mind or minds.
Those who have been content to define psychology as the science of mind have for the most part conceived of human nature as a combination of two very unlike things or principles, mind and body. But this is an assumption the validity of which is highly disputable; it has been not only disputed, but also confidently rejected, by a great number of philosophers, as well as by many of the leaders of modern science. And, even if we regard the assumption as well founded, we have to confess that it is impossible to distinguish clearly and confidently between body and mind, between the working of the body and the manifestations of mind in or through the body.
Psychology is Based on Observations of Three Kinds. Introspection
The difficulty is that each of us has no direct or immediate acquaintance with minds other than his own. Each one of us experiences pain and pleasure and various emotions, thinks and strives, remembers and expects and resolves. And it is generally agreed that all such experiences are manifestations of his mind or mental capacities. By reflection upon such experiences a man may form some notion of what his mind does and can do. And, by comparing notes with other men, he learns that they have similar experiences upon similar occasions, and infers that they have minds not unlike his own. Such observation of the varieties of oneâs own experience is called introspection. Every intelligent person can and does to some extent notice and remember his experiences; and there are very few who do not sometimes describe their experiences in words, reflect upon them and discuss them with their fellows. When such introspection, reflection, and interchange of descriptions of experiences and reflections upon them are conducted systematically, the process constitutes one of the great methods of psychology. It has for a long time been a well-recognized method; it has in fact often been declared to be the sole practical method of psychological study, the only legitimate and effective method of obtaining knowledge of the mind. During the last half century, this method of study has been greatly refined by the use of systematic experiment; that is to say, the person who wishes to notice and describe his experiences of any particular kind, instead of waiting until in the natural course of events such an experience occurs, deliberately seeks or arranges conditions under which some such experience is likely to occur, expects it and notices it, and describes it as carefully as possible. By the aid of a laboratory, all sorts of ingenious apparatus, and skilled assistants, much may be done to refine introspection and to record its results more accurately; and such work is a large part, though by no means the whole, of what is called âexperimental psychology.â Experimental introspection has obvious limitations. Many of the most vital and interesting experiences, such as grief or joy or fear or moral struggle, cannot be induced at will, except, perhaps, in very slight degrees. And, under the most favorable conditions, introspection of our more vivid and vital experiences is difficult, because we are apt to be primarily interested in the events of the outer world in which we are taking part, if only as observers. Then again the very act of introspection does to some extent modify the experience we wish to observe and describe; so that in introspecting we partially defeat our own purpose.
Another great difficulty meets us when we come to exchange notes with others upon our introspections; namely, the language in which we describe our experiences to one another is always sadly inadequate and imperfect. It is not true, as has sometimes been said, that language was evolved purely for the description of material things and events; it seems more nearly true to say that language was in the first place essentially a means for communicating and describing our experiences, and that, throughout its development, this has been a very important function of language. Nevertheless, in respect of this function, language, in spite of all the efforts of literary men and of psychologists to render it more precise and effective, remains a very inadequate instrument. For the description and discussion of things and events of the material world language has become very efficient; because we all have, or may have, the same kind of acquaintance with those things and events; and the efficiency of language for this purpose affords a strong guarantee of the essential similarity of such knowledge and acquaintance obtained by men in general.
But, in respect of the description of our experiences, language can never attain the same efficiency; just because each man has one kind of acquaintance with his own experience, namely, a direct acquaintance, and another, a very indirect kind of acquaintance only, with the experiences of other men.1 Yet here again the fact that we do succeed by the aid of language in making one another understand in some degree our descriptions of our experiences shows that one manâs experiences are not wholly unlike anotherâs, but rather have much in common. In many cases of the description of experience, language is but little less efficient than for the description of objective fact. If I say âI saw the moon rise over the hill just now,â you understand what I mean almost as fully and as surely as when I say âThe moon rose over the hill just now.â Yet in the former case my words describe a fact of my experience of which you can have only indirect acquaintance through my description; while in the second case the words describe an objective event which you may be acquainted with in the same way as myself and may objectively verify in other ways. Again, I say âI am truly sorryâ; and (if I am speaking truly) I describe a fact with which you can have no direct acquaintance, such as I have; yet you know very well what I mean, and you adjust your conduct accordingly. And if, instead of âsorry,â I had used any one of some hundreds of words, and had said âI am, or I feel, weary or angry, or anxious, or afraid, etc.,â you might have felt the same confidence that you took my meaning. This confidence is justified by the success with which we use such language to influence one another.
Observation and Description of the Conditions of Experience
The introspective method has, then, peculiar difficulties and limitations; yet, in spite of these, it is possible for it to achieve a generalized description of types of experience. It could and did achieve in this way a certain stage of psychological science, namely, the descriptive classificatory stage, which is but the first stage of the development of a science. But even this could be achieved only by taking note of the conditions under which we enjoy the experiences that we more or less successfully describe in words. For it is largely by noting and pointing out to one another such conditions that we attain to a common use and understanding of the words by aid of which we describe our experiences. We note, for example, that âhotâ is the right word for the description of our experience when we closely approach the fire, âpainâ when any part of the body is injured, âwearyâ when we have worked long and hard, âpleasedâ when we attain what we seek, and so on. Some of these conditions are facts of the outer world, some are facts of experience; and by noting systematically such occasions or conditions of various types of experience, it is possible to establish a certain number of empirical rules which raise to the explanatory stage the purely descriptive psychology attainable by introspection alone. This has been done with good effect.
Observation and Description of Behavior
A third great type of observation enables us to carry yet further our understanding of our experience, and at the same time raises another group of problems. This is the observation of conduct or behavior, both our own and that of other persons. By the term âconduct or behavior of any personâ we denote every movement and every other observable change of bodily condition which seems to express his experience. We know from observation of our own behavior that movements of the limbs, the face, the throat and chest, and other bodily changes, such as sweating and shedding of tears, are apt to accompany or follow upon experiences of certain types, in a more or less regular and orderly fashion. And observation of other persons, combined with their statements about their accompanying experiences, enables us to formulate a number of general rules, stating the correlation or conjunction of types of experience with types of bodily expression or behavior. Common observation has embodied in common speech a number of such empirical rules of correlation between modes of experience and modes of behavior; and, aided by these and by his own observations, every man, without special study, acquires some skill in interpreting modes of behavior as expressions of experiences.
Popular and Literary Psychology
These three kinds of observationânamely, (i) introspection, or the noticing of oneâs own experiences, (2) observation of the conditions or occasions of experiences, (3) observation of the expressions of experiencesâare practised by all men with some degree of success; and common speech embodies many general propositions based upon them. Such propositions constitute the popular psychology which we inevitably acquire in learning the use of language. Until we begin to study psychology scientifically, we inevitably make use of these forms of speech and accept more or less uncritically the propositions expressed or implied by them. Most of these implications of common speech are more or less true; for they embody the wisdom of the ages. But most of the words used in popular psychology are so vague and ill-defined that it is very difficult to formulate in such terms any unambiguous propositions or to convey any clear meaning. The literary art largely consists in so combining the words and phrases of popular psychology as to convey such meaning more effectively than the common speech of the common man can do. The cultivation of literature or the art of letters has thus greatly refined the psychology of common speech; and, when we speak of a cultivated man, we generally mean one who has learnt to appreciate and to make use of this more subtle and effective literary psychology. Persons whose education has been mainly literary, and who have learnt to appreciate highly and to use with some skill this more subtle literary psychology, are very apt to take the view that it is the only form of psychology of any value and that the attempt to deal scientifically with the facts of experience, or to make a scientific psychology, is mistaken and fruitless. But this anti-scientific view is ill-founded; there need be and should be no antagonism between literary and scientific psychology. From this point onward I shall use the terms âpsychologyâ and âpsychologistâ to denote the scientific varieties; but in doing so, I shall imply no disrespect for the achievements in this sphere of poets and biographers and writers of romance. The wise psychologist will regard literature as a vast store-house of information about human experience, and will not neglect to draw from it what he can.
Divergence of Scientific Psychology
For long ages the literary and the scientific treatments of human nature and human experience were but little differentiated; but as, under the stimulus and example of the other natural sciences, psychology began to be studied more systematically for its own sake, it drew further away from the popular and literary traditions, and a spirit of antagonism showed itself. This tendency was perhaps inevitable; for the psychologists, in attempting to specialize the words of common speech and to give them precise meaning, and in endeavoring to formulate exact generalizations and explanations of experience, formed hypotheses or theories, as is done in all the other natural sciences; their statements about experience and even their observations were then apt to be distorted or perverted by their theories; for such theories could at the best only approximate to the truth, and at the worst were very misleading. This tendency of psychology to diverge from the common and the literary traditions culminated about the end of the nineteenth century, when the artificial character of psychology was carried so far by some of its exponents that their writings seemed to have no relation to human nature or experience and no bearing upon practical life. To some psychologists this was evidence that their science was still in a very crude and unsatisfactory condition; for they saw that the true purpose of psychology, in the progressive realization of which its justification must be found, is the improvement of our understanding, and therefore of our control, of human experience and behavior. But others took a high line and reacted against the charge that psychology was a useless and purely academic pursuit, by retorting that it made no claim to be anything else; that it could have, and should not aspire to have, any bearing whatever on real life; that it was a game like any other, to be played according to accepted rules or conventions; that the enjoyment to be had from the game and the sharpening of wits that it might bring were its sole justification and raison dâĂȘtre.
Applications of Psychology Restore It to Sanity
This stage, however, did not long endure. One of the most prominent of the âstrictly scientificâ psychologists who dogmatically expounded this remarkable doctrine, in accordance with his principles and in defense of the strictly useless psychology which he had produced, shortly afterward published a long series of books on the applications of psychology to life; and, as these books were not without value, they provided a convincing demonstration of the falsity of the doctrine. In thus turning from false theory to practical endeavor, this inconsistent psychologist exemplified the condition and the development of psychology at the time. For by the impartial inquirer the so-called science might well have been described as a mass of observations of the three kinds we have noticed, mixed with and distorted by a chaotic jumble of theories.
Nevertheless, it began to be apparent, even to some practical men, that this jumble of facts, expressed by various writers in terms of the most diverse and inconsistent theories, though it might hardly deserve the name of a science, had yet something to offer of value for practical life. And the psychologists kept plugging away, accumulating observations, refining their methods, and discussing their theories, vastly en...